“Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. And it filled seven sheets of notepaper, each written only on one side. And do you, Jack, attend to your work, and mind you don't get into further mischief. I suppose I believe in God. Mr. . Something happened down there, and probably I'll never know what. The thought did not occur to her, for all thought had flown out of her head. But that was soon put right, and she walked out into London with a peculiar exaltation of mind, an exaltation that partook of panic and defiance, but was chiefly a sense of vast unexampled release.
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